Ash Davan helped Lostya to her feet. "Crivi?" she asked, alarm evident in her voice. "The Thunderbolt Hálberd took out half the royal palace with a single cast. None of us truly understood its power then. More importantly, Lona, we could barely control it. I'm afraid the blast could take us all out, and the soldiers too."

  "It remains our swiftest and most effective option," Lostya replied, directing Ash's attention with her gaze. "Look there—where the Wind Spear struck, the lightning patterns are less dense. The barrier's weakened at that point. We cannot afford to gradually erode its defenses; we must concentrate our full power in a single, decisive strike. Remember, the Asiro Barrier possesses self-healing properties as long as sufficient Primal Source remains available. That's my primary concern."

  "Why not employ your Eternal Magic instead?"

  "That remains the absolute final resort, Ash," she responded gravely. "The last desperate measure when all else fails. I pray we never reach that point."

  The Cynthian officer observed the two sorceresses discussing their strategy, his legs trembling with undisguised fear. "You!" he shouted, voice cracking, "What more do you intend to do? Cease immediately, witches!" The mages ignored him completely.

  "My lord, we truly must alert Lord Alofenk," the chainmailed soldier whispered urgently in his ear. "Have you noticed our men behind us?" He gestured toward the soldiers constructing defensive fortifications. "We might feign ignorance, but they certainly won't. Many have already observed these witches' activities—this cannot be concealed. By the time they breach the barrier—gods forbid—it will be too late to summon reinforcements."

  "Go then," the officer commanded, fighting to control his quivering lips. "Quickly—inform Earl Alofenk, the headmaster who cast this spell, anyone who might help. Hurry!" As the chainmailed soldier departed, he turned to his leather-armored subordinate. "You—tell our men to accelerate work on the barricades and trenches. Ensure they're prepared for immediate combat, ready to drop their tools and take up arms at a moment's notice. Move, now!" He now stood alone against whatever might come.

  "They're surely summoning reinforcements or alerting other spellcasters. We must act swiftly—these incantations require considerable time," Lostya Huggins said, clutching the rainbow diamond pendant at her throat. "Begin the casting, Ash. Don't waste precious moments drawing fresh Source—utilize what we've stored in our artifacts." The golden-haired sorceress nodded in acknowledgment. "The legends say the Thunderbolt Hálberd was a spell of the Titans, but we are the finest sorceresses in the Empire. We can master it. Come, sister. Let's show these Cynthians what we can really do."

  The sorceresses began their synchronized spellcasting, though each recited distinctly different incantations. The Thunderbolt Hálberd—a devastatingly powerful offensive spell from the Era of Conflicts, once wielded by the Titan Mage Astrapēclēs, as renowned as his legendary Dragonbańe Arrow. For human practitioners, conjuring such formidable magic entailed tremendous risk; after elven mages refined the technique, the Thunderbolt Hálberd evolved into a dual-caster spell requiring two separate yet intricately connected incantations. Naturally, even the most potent modern elven or human variant paled in comparison to its Titanic predecessor. Ash raised her hands slightly, eyes closed in concentration like a temple priestess in prayer, softly murmuring her arcane words. Lostya's pendant quivered against her palm; she could feel her stored Source flowing from her fingertips, gathering in the air above them. Electric arcs materialized from nothing, intertwining and coalescing into a blindingly brilliant sphere of lightning. The Cynthian officer unsheathed his sword, gripping it with both hands as he faced the impending threat. Behind him, his soldiers abandoned their stakes and shovels, arming themselves with whatever weapons they possessed, bracing for imminent conflict.

  The tempo of their chanting accelerated, and the lightning sphere began morphing, gradually elongating into the distinctive shape of a halberd. (Running out of Source,) Lostya worried silently. She glanced sideways, noticing Ash Davan still deep in her trance, apparently untroubled by any Source limitations. (Good, Ash's reserves remain strong. I must now draw from the ambient Primal Source of this region...) In that instant, it felt as though an icy hand had seized her by the throat—a terror so profound that for years after, the memory alone could make her choke. There was no Source left in Wafflo to draw upon. Nothing.

  Tears of desperation welled in her eyes, born of both helplessness and uncertainty. With conventional spells, one could safely interrupt the casting process mid-incantation with minimal consequence. But not with Titan magic. Should she or Ash halt their casting now, the half-formed lightning construct would detonate instantly. Lostya Huggins had witnessed such catastrophic failure firsthand—a male mage from the Free City-State of Tolin Isle and his apprentice had been reduced to unrecognizable ash, their opulent palace and gardens erased from existence in an instant. (You cannot stop, Lona. Don't you dare stop. But what alternative remains? Who can guide me now?) The young sorceress experienced perhaps the most rapid and complex thought process of her entire life, her mind racing to its absolute limit. (Calm, Lona. Feel for it. The Primal Source can't just be gone. Don't you dare give up, Lostya Huggins. You are the pride of the Empire. You will not fail.)

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  She detected the merest whisper of Source remaining in the Cynthian territory, but immediately decided against drawing upon it. (The amount is negligible—almost entirely consumed by Cynthian mages to sustain the Asiro Barrier. What little remains feels peculiar, as though anchored to something massive yet precarious...) She raised her eyes, looking forward. (It's connected to Cynthia's city walls.)

  She recognized the hopelessness of their situation. She could recklessly drain the final vestiges of Source from the land, but doing so would collapse Cynthia's defensive walls entirely—and still might prove insufficient to complete their spell. The alternative path led only to their imminent destruction in the resulting explosion. Her sole consolation might be that such a blast could potentially fracture the barrier.

  Ash had begun to notice Lostya's struggle, perceiving how her mentor's incantations grew increasingly labored and feeble. The petite blonde sorceress faltered in her own casting, witnessing her superior's evident difficulty. She contemplated halting her spell, unaware of the catastrophic consequences such action would trigger. Fortunately, during the briefest pause between phrases, Lostya Huggins managed to shout her fellow witch's name—a cry so swift that a dragonfly might only beat its wings five times during its utterance. This unexpected outburst dispelled any thought Ash might have had about interrupting the spell, while simultaneously alerting Julia. The third sorceress stood approximately three hundred feet behind them, assisting with the treatment of a knight whose pauldron had been crushed inward from a fall, his shoulder pierced by a broken sword. Comprehending the situation instantly, Julia removed her bracelet—a sharp, lightning-like pain shot through her compressed metacarpals, but she clenched her teeth, refusing to slow her movements. Initially intending to throw it directly, she realized the distance was too great. "Catch!" she called, employing force magic to propel the bracelet toward Lostya. Such magic ranked among the most challenging disciplines, even for history's greatest mages who typically mastered only its fundamentals. By some miracle, the dark-haired sorceress snatched the lifeline out of the air. Lostya's incantations regained their rhythm, and the spherical lightning finally transformed into a complete halberd.

  "Fall back!" the Cynthian officer commanded his soldiers. "Retreat, but maintain battle readiness!" "Get back!" Lostya roared at the gawking infantry behind her. "Move, unless you want to be blasted into dust!" Then she turned to her colleague: "Ash! Now!"

  Together, they rotated their arms in perfect synchronization—the Thunderbolt Hálberd launched toward the Goldbrick Wall. Instantaneously, light so intense it forced every witness to shield their eyes erupted across the battlefield. Similar to the Wind Spear before it, the halberd struck the barrier and vibrated violently, emitting blinding white radiance accompanied by an unbearable screeching sound. "Hold steady!" Lostya commanded her junior. "Maintain control!"

  The Cynthian officer stared wide-eyed, one hand shielding his face, sweat droplets cascading from his eyelashes. Then he heard it—another sound distinct from the friction—something slower yet infinitely more ominous: the sound of glass fracturing. "Everyone back!" he screamed instinctively, primal fear overwhelming rational thought.

  The Thunderbolt Hálberd's shaft gradually shortened, seemingly absorbed by the barrier. Despite the overwhelming brilliance, Lostya observed this worrying development. "Ash! Protect yourself!" she called urgently. But Ash, deafened by the cacophony, failed to comprehend. "Did you call me, Lona?" she shouted back. "I can't hear what you're—"

  Her words remained forever unfinished. The Thunderbolt Hálberd suddenly vanished completely, along with all light and sound, plunging the world into eerie silence. In that infinitesimal moment, Lostya Huggins performed an action that no witness—including herself—could later comprehend. With a speed so great she nearly bit her tongue, she spoke the words for a renowned defensive spell: the "Ring of Hell," a triple-layered shield for personal defense. And she cast it not on herself, but on Ash.

  The Cynthian officer would later feel profound gratitude that his subordinates had excavated an unfinished trench just behind his position. As he dove headlong into this improvised shelter, the explosion's shockwave still struck his back with the force of thirty-eight simultaneous warhammer blows. Ash Davan, protected by Lostya's barrier, was nonetheless hurled backward several body lengths. When she finally struggled to her feet, her first instinct was to locate Lostya Huggins. Instead, her attention—like everyone else present—was immediately captured by an astonishing sight.

  The Goldbrick Wall now featured a gaping breach nearly 220 yards in diameter.